For the One I Love, on Our 33rd Anniversary, draft no. 1

For leaving your last roll

So we could end tied

For eating all sweets

Except those I hade

For having big dreams

To sail the world wide

I'm eternally grateful

To be thirty-three years your bride. 

Love, 

Your wife, 

Jennn

For Niece Emily, on her 12th Birthday, draft no. 1

For getting 10th place

In the dance competition

For learning one ski

Like a girl on a mission

For traipsing the country

This way and that

For studying wars

And stretching your calves

For all of these quirks

And a thousand quirks more

You are the fabulous

Niece we adore. 

Love, 

Aunty Jennn

For Nephew Jacob, on His UnBirthday, draft no. 1

 For preferring your eggs

without pepper spots

for hanging with folks

when you'd rather not

for taking to water

like a fish in a loch

for masterful placement

of red and blue tchotchke

for giggles of protest

when it's past time for bed

for melting all hearts

with your vermillion head

there's no other nephew

that we'd want instead. 

Love, 

Aunty Jennn

For Brother-in-law Chris, draft no. 1

 He drills holes for flags

Carries grocery bags

Works like a pack mule

Maintains boat fuel

He's steady and calm

Cleans bricks like the bomb

Navigates home repairs

Never tries to put on airs

A kinder host there's never been

Hooray for Chris Watts (and his kin). 

857 miles, draft no. 2

by Jen Hunt

I'm not a detail person

or so I like to say

my memory will, at times,

tiptoe--or sprint-- away

But, boy, do I remember 

the 857 miles we drove in one day 

when my brother 

disinvited us to his sixtieth birthday

and we had nowhere else to stay

I'm not a detail person, 

Or so I like to say,

But when it comes to tracking wrongs

my mind's as clear as day. 

4/20/25 Sunrise service Easter morning, draft no. 2

The heavens a chandelier crystal swaying just above my head

The play room is now

Art gallery, prayer loft, tomb, and bed--

I find the porch 

in bathrobe and peony pajamas

and await the sunrise-- 

"He is risen" I write on the slate

The week is bright;

I shall wear white--

The church bells ring and gong

The swallows are in on the song

The air is thin--

Pink clouds reflect on the window pane

Jesus is finally out of trouble

I blow bubbles-- 

Poetry and Writing Workshop 2/21/25 Friday, 3 pm with Padraig O Tuama and ?

Prompt:

Nothing of my life
is what I thought my life would be, draft no. 1

Nothing in my life

Is what I thought it would be

The trail

The company

The residue

Uninvited

 

Nothing in my life

Is what I thought it would be

Yet there is room

For a couch and a footrest pillow

And throw in this eave

 

“Nothing” is quite comfortable

Once you’ve gotten

The hang of it

Loosened the belt

And traded work boots for mules

And splayed whisps of hair

--

Prompt: Let…Let…let..draft no. 1

 

Let the name of the Lord

Be praised

 

Let the hearts of all souls

Hear the refrain

 

Let no one be left out

 

Let every knee bow and even severed tongues

Rejoice

God is here before us

And he is good.

A new song shall be sung

In the neighborhood.

 --

Let no one douse my flame

Let my heartbeat speak the same

Let broken bones rejoice

I have a voice

 

Let locust-scorched land thrive

Let sad bones come alive

Let no one steal my core

Hear me roar.

---

Prompt: For ____, I forgive you, draft no. 1

For Facebook scrolling while

The client was talking

For making the lamp of the body

A Google lens

Rather than a homing pigeon

 

For filling the last rays of day

With fleeting gasps and grasps

For only half listening to my friend

Talk of her illness

While I waited for someone’s autograph

For going to bed early

I forgive you

For picking your thumb scab

Until it bleeds

For failing to notice the

Tint on the side of the neighbor’s house...

I forgive

---

Prompt: All pain is made of longing, draft no. 1

All pain is made of longing

the stretch toward 

that which hasn't been

ball of the foot

the balance on one leg

reaching ballet-like 

to the horizon

the hip joints no longer supple

the plie now incomplete

all pain is made of longing

the stretch forward seeking 

the limberness of childhood

all pain is made of memory

what was lost

what used to be

soon we must stretch arms or 

lie down prostrate on the plain

together we eat this earth

England, May 2025, draft no. 2

 

                                For Alden and Claire:

Afternoon tea

at Number Sixteen

(complete with free pencil,

striped white and green)

Times with your small group

Walks at Hampstead Heath

Training to Dover and

Hiking its peak

A Cutty Sark tea clipper tour,

Benjamin Button, Babbo’s, Messiah and more--

Makes us wish we could live

A pond closer, it’s true,

But until then, we’ll cherish

The time shared with you.

 

Love, Mom/Jen

Retail Therapy, or, Death in three acts, draft no. 1

 (From the archives)

Context: This text exchange took place at the start of my first writer’s weekend I committed to take.  Just before, I had been selling items on Facebook Marketplace to raise money for Krissie’s painting.

Friday

Percell, 5:05 pm:

Could I see the plates?

And would $40 do?

Mum is British so

You can imagine we have much china.

This flower just happens to be my favorite

I’m with my sister-in-law

Who is dying of cancer today

 

Poet, 5:21 pm: Peonies are my favorite,

too! It has been hard waiting for

people who say they will come then don’t.

If you can come tonight,

Friday, forty would do.

 

Percell, 5:45 pm: waiting for my sister to arrive

do not want to cut short time to see her

I will come tomorrow early

or afternoon, if Saturday works for you

Then I can stay with her

tonight

 

Poet, 5:52 pm: Monday would be much better – anytime

between 9 am and 6 pm would do.

Price would be $45.

My time Saturday is limited

My husband is away, and I fear

I will squander my writer’s weekend

checking Facebook messages

 

Percell, 5:58 pm: I thought it was $49 for all.

It says 10 settings, unless I am reading it wrong.

Mon thru Thur I work 10 hour days

6 am – 5 pm.

 

Poet, 7:04 pm: I did not mean to underline.

Not sure why it did that. It was

a discount.

I could text you when I’m through groceries

Tomorrow.

 

Percell, 9:30 pm: Thank you, Hon. Afternoon

tomorrow will be fine

I’ll leave Waupaca and head east

when you say you’re back home

Just 20 min from me on 441

 

Saturday

Poet, 2:15 pm: Should be home

in 15 minutes

Groceries away by 2:45 pm. If you could come

around then, would be great.

 

Percell, 2:32 pm: Hon, she was airlifted to

Theda Clark here.

Not good

Can I come at 4:30 pm?
Still haven’t been able to see her yet

 

Poet, 2:59 pm: Of course.

I hope to nap then walk nearby

with my son. Give me a ring 10-15 min

before you arrive

To be sure I am here

 

Percell, 3:22 pm: I’m hoping to get there still today

Honey

 

Percell, 4:07 pm : We still haven’t seen her.

I think tomorrow may work better.

 

Poet, 4:19 pm: I’ve written a poem

and napped, so

recharged enough to flex

 

Poet, 6:25 pm: I’m up until at least 9:15 pm if that helps.

I’ve set the dishes on the table and have packing paper to wrap them in

And boxes

 

Percell, 8:33 pm: we are just leaving the hospital

Doesn’t look like our girl will make it

Another day

Praying and hopeful, but

it’s bad. If it’s ok I will come

Tomorrow. I’m excited about them so I’ll try to be there before 1 pm.

 

Poet, 8:39 pm: You bet. See you tomorrow.

 

Sunday

Percell, 9:55 am: Is it possible

To have the dishes already boxed?

And someone put them in

My car for me? I have back issues.

Her tubes are being pulled today so I

trust you that they are as you said

but I don’t have slot of time.

I have a $50 bill

Don’t worry about the $1.

You have been amazing to work with.

 

Poet, 10:08 am: I can box for you

And my son can carry.

We’ll be home

By 10:45 am.

 

Percell, 10:12 am: I will let you know

When I leave.

 

Poet, 11:35 am: I’ve boxed it up

And ready to go. I left one set out

For you to see, that I can

Wrap up quickly. Here’s a picture of

What I wrapped up. (The row of

Chipped ones are off the fabric

Not included in the count above.)

 

Percell,11:35 am: Oh it’s beautiful

Thank you

It’s beautiful. They are

Pulling the plug at noon.

I’ll let you know.

 

Percell, 12:30 pm: We still haven’t

Pulled it yet. This waiting

 

Poet, 12:46 pm: you’re good.

I will just be here doing paperwork.

 

Percell,1:26 pm: If it gets

Too late, let me know

Still hanging on

 

Percell, 1:52 pm: Is now

Too late to come

 

Poet, 2:00 pm: Now is

Perfectly fine with me

 

Percell, 2:02 pm: On my wAy

 

Percell, 2:50 pm: In the

Driveway. The wind is kicking me.

If your son could bring out

That would be great.

 

Poet, 3:29 pm: In one of the boxes

I brought out there’s a quilted pillow sham

That sort of goes with the set

And inside it

A framed “Jesus and the Lamb”

And a sympathy poem I wrote

A while back and thought appropriate

Given everything

Didn’t want you to think they were there

By accident 

 

Bear Hug Get Well

 To Alden and Claire when I learned they were under the weather on our Zoom call to London, sent with a bear hug card:

We trust you're feeling better

by the time you get this letter.

But even if you no longer have the bug,

Anytime's a good one for a hug. 

Somersaulting with God, draft no. 1

When I was a child

on the lawn of our Lyman cottage

I would plant my bare feet onto Dad’s shoes

Grab his big hands, crawl

up the wall of his legs

Turn backflip off his waist

Giggling

 

When I prayed in our group last night

I felt like that girl

Somersaulting off God’s knees

As he held me close

 

My soul vaults on God

I am his beloved daughter

No surer trunk will ever be found

I shall spin and laugh out loud

Forever

Two Rivers Beach Walk 1/17/25, draft no. 1

Low low the sun goes

bright orange bleeds the skies

frozen sand neglects to sink

I'm sturdy, arms up high

D O  D O  D O  the sand prints read

to my dyslexic mind

Perhaps there is an "I" ahead 

where a young couple wed--

It's really just some shoe prints, trailing

down and down the beach.

How often I'm mistaken 

about hieroglyphs I see.

The pink clouds glow much fainter

Shells splay like open palms

I fashion Y E S with driftwood,

cove-sheltered where it's calm. 

Loneliness is scary

But solitude's a dance

I'd stay right here forever

If I had the chance. 

Bliss's 50th Birthday Poem (50 words long)*

 Never have we e’er seen Bliss:

hair amiss

husband dissed

spout off and now someone’s pissed

hang back when it’s time to greet

“Here I am,” spout, “Aren’t I neat?!”

Only one thing can explain

Bliss’ extraordinary frame

God, who’s got her in His grip,

And 50 years His craftsmanship

*A joint effort by Graham and Jen